


Three Words

by Kiwikiwi591



Series: Prompt Fills [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ficlet, M/M, sherlock and john confront issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 07:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1809643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiwikiwi591/pseuds/Kiwikiwi591
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It’s funny how such a small phrase could do so much damage. He’d never meant to do this, never meant to cause so much pain, and yet with one little string of words, he’d done it.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Words

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt fill. They asked for Sherlock snapping at John, and as a result, they address some insecurities.  
> Bit of angst here, but it's fixed in the end c:

It’s funny how such a small phrase could do so much damage. He’d never meant to do this, never meant to cause so much pain, and yet with one little string of words, he’d done it.  
  
 _"I hate you,"_ Sherlock had hissed from the couch, staring angrily straight into John’s eyes.  
  
John had stopped, hand frozen mid-gesture. His expression of anger slipped to one of shock.

"What?" he’d asked quietly.

"I said, _I hate you,”_ he repeated. Reflecting back on it, despite the weight that the words usually carried, he hadn’t meant for so much venom to leak into his voice. He didn’t truly hate John, and was almost sure that he was actually incapable of it. It was just a simple matter of efficiency; compressing all of his anger and sadness from the last few months into three little words. He couldn’t quite explain where the feeling had come from; all he knew was that for whatever reason, it seemed to be connected to John. In all actuality, it was probably just because of the immense amount of time they spent together. Nonetheless, the words had slipped out before Sherlock had even had a chance to think of their effects.

John’s expression changed again, carefully blank this time; his eyes, however, betrayed the conflict between boiling anger and crushing sadness inside. He nodded, thrusting his hands into his pockets.

"Right. That’s what I thought you said," he said, voice sounding oddly broken. "Well, if that’s how you feel, I’ll just leave."

Sherlock continued to stare back at him. He could admit, that wasn’t quite the response he’d expected; he wasn’t entirely sure how to respond himself. Apparently taking a lack of response as a lack of objection as well, John stomped up the stairs to his room, slamming the door behind him. Sherlock gave him some time; although he was acting _very_ much like a rebellious teen, Sherlock understood that sometimes he needed the space. After about 15 minutes, John came back down the stairs, and Sherlock looked over at him, confused to find him wearing a very full backpack.

"What are you doing?" he asked. John turned to look back at him, face still purposefully blank.

"I said I was leaving. I’ll be back later for the rest of my things."

Sherlock gaped. He hadn’t thought John was serious. He’d thought that, just like the words he’d said, his response had been spoken before he could think about it. He’d never even considered that John would _actually_ leave.

"John," he said, his voice going quiet. John simply shook his head, and walked down the rest of the stairs, leaving 221b.

Hours later, Sherlock still sat quietly on the couch, seriously reevaluating both their long row and the value words held.

* * *

 

John stepped back into 221b, determined to keep himself nonchalant. It was obvious that Sherlock simply hadn’t loved him like he claimed he did; he would _not_ be the one to come crawling back. Despite himself however, he felt a pang of sadness as he looked up the familiar stairs. He’d first intended on walking up to his- the bedroom, grabbing the few things that he really cared about, and then returning back to his old flat. As he stood in front of the closed door to the rest of the flat, however, he decided that at least a goodbye was in order.

He stepped into the sitting room, taking in a sharp breath. Sherlock was still sitting in the same spot on the sofa and staring off into space. He glanced at his phone; it had been over 48 hours since he’d left, and it looked as if Sherlock hadn’t even budged.

"Sherlock?" he said. No response.

He walked a bit closer, and Sherlock’s eyes twitched ever so slightly in his direction before going back.

"Sherlock, can you hear me?" John asked, getting worried now.

"Three words," Sherlock finally replied, voice rough. John was relieved at first, happy to hear him talking, but got confused once he processed what he’d said.

"What?" he asked.

"Three words," Sherlock said again. "Only three words, and you left."

_Oh._

John was silent, not able to think of anything to say. After a few moments of silence, he finally generally looked Sherlock over; the general apathy was obvious, but there was something else there as well. Looking at the dark circles under his eyes, John wondered if he’d even bothered to sleep.

"Have you been here since I left?" he asked quietly. Sherlock nodded slightly. John sighed, feeling oddly guilty. True, Sherlock was the one who’d actually _said_ the words, but John was the one who’d walked out.

"My fault," Sherlock said quietly.

John turned to look at him questioningly.

"It was my fault. I seriously underestimated how much of an impact three words could have, along with your feelings," he said. His face fell slightly. "I’ve never been very good with feelings. I understand, now, how you felt and I also understand if you’d like to leave. I won’t stop you."

John sat there staring back at him, mouth slightly agape. So many conflicting feelings were flying around at once; guilt for leaving, residual anger at what Sherlock had said before, sadness for his words now- he finally settled on one thing.

He leaned forward, giving Sherlock a quick kiss. He stared back at him, shocked.

"I’ll stay," John said quietly, one hand coming up to rest on Sherlock’s cheek. "But we need to sort this out. We can’t keep having these fights every couple weeks."

Sherlock simply continued to look at him, at a loss for words. After a couple moments, he just nodded. John pulled Sherlock into a warm embrace, squeezing him tightly.

"I love you," John whispered.

"I love you, too," Sherlock replied quietly, eyes beginning to shine lightly with tears. John was so patient, so understanding; and after what was just said, Sherlock knew he was right in the conclusion he’d come to.

Three words could carry a world of weight within them.


End file.
